View Full Version : And Death Had No Dominion
And Death Had No Dominion (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnsDX4fTaEI)
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Thus begins a new chapter in the tale of the Tantalum Troupe. A sequel, of sorts, to In Which Ruby Kicks Duffy in the Nuts (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?29206-In-Which-Ruby-Kicks-Duffy-In-The-Nuts-(Solo)).
It had been four months since Ruby’s eventful trip to the illusory city of Branna. Atop a mountain city’s heights, the spell singer had learned the true, blue fate of her long estranged brother. The bard, Duffy Bracken, was dead. Not stage dead. He would not revive in a subsequent act as part of a dramatic device. No. He was, for all intent and purpose, gone beyond the mortal coil. Spun away into nothingness.
That did not stop the incorrigible little bastard from stealing the show. If you thought death could stop a bard from rehearsing, you were a fool. Ruby grieved, but knowing full well that she would still get to see him helped her through the process. Whenever she entered the Aria, the realm of creation and artistry itself, there he would reside.
“Are you ready my dear?” enquired a gruff, warming voice.
Ruby sighed. She turned to stare into the full length mirror that lined the hallway leading to the stage room and looked herself over. Much had changed since Duffy’s death. She, of all the things that had changed, was the most unrecognisable.
“Almost!” she replied atop her lungs.
Wherever Leopold Winchester was hiding, he would soon have to emerge to compliment her on whatever she was wearing. They had been married too long, and her wrath too swift and fiery for her husband to dare to forget. That gave the matriarch a few precious moments to herself.
Eyes widened by experience and war, yet invigorated by recent events she was every bit the adventurer. To avoid attention, she changed her hair colour with the edifice of power at her disposal, and did the best she could to mask the presence of the phoenix feathers in her hair. Now, they were dull grey streaks of matted strands.
She tore apart her favourite, signature red dress and tasked her sister to remake it into something more practical. Fur lined doublet and shoulder pads gave her an edge in colder climes, and the array of bandoleers, scarves, and bangles about her person gave her a gypsy allure. She brought the outfit together with a simple silver necklace and rough cloth boots and leggings. To aid her new endeavours with Chronicle, she had abandoned her titles. She was simply Ruby, like the old days, and occasionally just ‘Red’.
“Did you do something with your hair?” Leopold enquired the second he appeared atop the stairs.
Ruby jolted about to meet his gaze, hoping to find a mocking look on his face or a hint of sarcasm. She unclenched her teeth when she realised he was every bit sincere.
“I thought it was about time I had a change.” She flicked a silver lock for dramatic effect. “Plus, if I go about with flame coloured hair I’ll give the game away.”
Leopold nodded with agreement. He, on the other hand, had not changed an ounce in four months. Even through the thick and thin of war with orcs and giants alike, the merchant looked as dour and half-cut as ever. He had, however, stitched the holes his jacket and dug out his gold threaded waistcoat. The events of the afternoon called for a little something extra.
“If the Council turn our offer down looking like this, well,” he puffed out his chest.
“I think they’ve more pressing concerns than our dress sense.” Ruby rolled her eyes and turned back to the allure of the mirror. She had to admit, her identity as Red still gave her pause for thought. Even with Oblivion gone, it seemed the troupe were destined to wear a thousand masks for a thousand roles and never truly get to know themselves.
“Shall we go?” Leopold asked after several awkward moments of watching his wife admire herself. He wondered how many hours they had both wasted looking in mirrors, and frowned.
Ruby nodded.
“Are you sure you want to take the lead on this one?”
It was a question Ruby had expected since dawn. Over dinner, she expressed concerns about trying to garner business with the Council of Bladesingers using old connections. Those connections being their former lives as bards amongst the once expansive and powerful schools. She herself had been a master of the Turlin School, her name emblazoned in elfish history, her likeness engraved on walls in ruins throughout the Raiaera capital.
“They know who you are my dear.”
Sadly, everybody knew who Leopold Winchester was. Especially the Aleran government. His mug shot was inked on wanted posters on the streets around the Black Fortress and in every major airship port in Alerar. Business, suffice to say, was hard to conduct with dark elves these days.
“And they don’t you?” He furrowed his brow.
Ruby walked to her husband’s side and took his arm. Like a fostering mother, she led her child down the stairs into the bowels of Duffy’s illusory playhouse. They discussed why Ruby was right, why she would always be right as they navigated rooms full of prop crates and galley kitchens busy with actors and tailors and tinkers and playwrights. Leopold had abandoned his concerns well and truly by the time the duo stepped out into the morning sunlight.
“Look,” Ruby said jubilantly, “Jeren’s been a dear and prepared the coach for us.” She pointed to the waiting vessel at the centre of the courtyard. Sure enough, there was the slack jawed psychopath and his enchanted sword. (Or enchanted human with his psychopath sword, Leopold was still not sure).
“Morning Winchesters,” the captain cooed. He pulled the side door open and gestured them over. “We have to leave now or we’ll never make it to the meeting.”
They spoke no more about potential kinks in their plan. All that mattered was staying focussed on the task at hand. For Branna to thrive and Tantalus to escape his prison in the Tap – ‘Red’ had to convince the remnants of the bardic college to migrate to Branna. The City of Bards needed bards.
One Month Prior
“I really can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Well, there you have it. The Great Bard Duffy Bracken is dead.”
Silence filled the office of The Winchester Trading Company’s Salvarian base of operations. It threatened the occupant’s sanity as much as it did their patience.
“Lillith…,” Ruby Winchester pleaded. She stepped forwards, heels thudding ominously against worn planks in the candlelight. When the spell singer recognised her folly she retreated back to the doorway.
For an hour, Leopold Winchester recounted the events leading up to Duffy’s death. His real death. His spinning away from the mortal coil. True blue mortality catching up with those who thought ill of the living. He was dead. As the tale unfolded, the occupants of the room shuffled uncomfortably. They shed tears. They gasped. They became nervous. Ruby, Leopold, Arden, Lillith, and Pettigrew. Despite some having not seen the others weeks, months, and years – they stood united in horror.
“To think this happened three months ago…,” the assassin stated. There was poison in her words, and nobody doubted that it was intended for Ruby.
“If I knew where you were,” the spell singer spat.
“You would do all you could to let us know,” Leopold interjected. The merchant rapped his bruised knuckles against his desk to call the room to order. Things, as ever, were neither going to plan nor staying in order.
“This is fuckin’ ‘orrible,” the youngest of the siblings added. He flicked his long, black, lanky fringe from his forehead and pushed away from the side of the fireplace. It’s orange glow illuminated the tired features of the boy called Crow, and yet, somehow, gave his frown a flourish of emotion and empathy.
“Pete…are you okay?” Arden enquired. The swordsman, mute no more, stared intently at his youngest brother.
Stood in breeches and a sodden white shirt, it was clear that Pettigrew Jones was far from okay. Last he heard, Pete and Duffy had parted ways with good intentions and all and sundry that threatened their troupes was vanquished. There were no ties binding either of them to wars. Duffy told Pete he was going to return to Scara Brae and finally give writing the third play he never-quite-got-to a go.
“Does he fucking look okay?” Lillith shouted. Had she a tanto in her belt, she would have drawn it.
Arden turned slowly and stared intently at his sister. His eyes, glowing with ancient power undid the assassin’s resolve and silence fell once more. The stalemate resumed. Leopold sighed. Ruby played with her feathery hair. Pete folded his arms across his lanky chest.
“Truth be told,” Pete began, “I’m not sure I’ve ever been ‘okay’.”
Doubt clung to everything Pete said whenever the stage was not involved. Despite his theatrical providence, there was nothing he could do now to hide his disillusionment. Without his elder brother, his inspiration, he was nothing.
“This is the last thing Duffy would have wanted.” Glib as ever, Leopold put the scenario into a simple, ineloquent statement of affairs.
The wagon trailed through Branna’s bustling streets for what seemed liked hours. In the back of the wagon, the rag-tag group continued to discuss current affairs with their usual sniping sarcasm and humour. Jeren, ever the go between took it in his stride.
“Now we’ve settled on Ruby’s lead, do you think we can talk about what’s going to happen to the Rose?”
After months of long caravans and trading, the members of the Winchester Rose Trading Company had taken to simply calling it by its floral namesake. The signs had slowly lost the Winchester, and few people refereed to it as a trading company. Leopold’s altruistic endeavours to stop the war in Salvar had seen to that. They were becoming something else entirely.
“What do you mean?” Leopold asked. He looked sternly at his right hand man. Jeren knew the look meant speak your mind, so he did.
“Well,” the captain continued, “if you’re going to divert your attentions to supporting the regeneration of Raiaera, who will look after your business interests?”
Leopold chose not to answer the question immediately. He had expected it for quite some time. Over the last few months, Jeren’s responsibilities gone extended far beyond overseeing the Caravan Guard and the security of the company’s assets in more difficult environments. He had stopped being Leopold’s bodyguard and drunken conscience, he was as much a partner in the company as any.
“Oh put him out of his misery, dear,” Ruby encouraged. She rolled her eyes, though did not look up from her embroidery. The half-stitched symbol served as a fetish for the spell singer to channel her energy into. The journey ahead was long, and her temper quick to fire even with happiness trailing-blazing in their wake. Grief did strange things to strange people.
“Fine,” Leopold conceded. “Jeren it’s high time I gave you a promotion.”
The captain smirked.
“If you’re interested, I’d like to appoint you as Regional Executive for our operations in Salvar and Berevar.”
Had Jeren not been quite as much of a philistine, the title would have been music to his ears. Instead, it meant nothing. He rephrased it in terms he could understand and appreciate.
“How much?”
Ruby chuckled, though once again did not look up from her work. Her grey strands of hair caught the sunlight that peeped through the curtain cracks, a promise of grandeur locked away by the need for secrecy and a low-profile.
“Double.”
“I accept.”
Leopold was not sure which of the duo accepted, but the eagerness and certainty in the man’s voice assured him. In all honesty, no scenario that played out in his grand schemes included Jeren refusing such a promotion. The only problem the merchant foresaw was wherever or not his choice for the job would be content with his new station. It could never be said that Jeren was a man fond of diplomacy and paperwork.
“Do you think you can handle the meetings and logistics?”
“I say.” Jeren smirked. He leant in towards his employer. “I’ve had quite the education since that fateful interview and the hangover that followed.”
Leopold cast his mind back to the day they had first crossed paths. Jeren had wowed the merchant more than any other candidate. Not just for that particular season’s guard, but since any guardsmen that had joined his company in over a century.
“You’re the only person I’ve considered asking, if I’m honest.”
“Which is high praise indeed,” Jeren replied.
The pair of them continued to discuss the fine details of the new arrangement. By the time they had addressed salary, responsibilities, and where the operations were to go in the coming months the wagon rolled through the grand gates at the bottom of the city and out into the spectral plains that served as a border between the illusory world of the Aria, and Althanas proper.
“Can you two finish patting one another on the back?”
At long last, Ruby set aside her circle and rested her palms on her lap. She looked at each of the men in her life with stern intent, and set them to silence. Leopold and Jeren exchanged an all knowing glance that suggested they would resume their business discussion at a later, more drunken point in time.
“Yes dear.”
“Only,” Ruby interjected, “we’re in Corone.”
She pulled aside the curtains on her side of the wagon and let in the dull afternoon light of late Autumn. Unlike Branna, where the weather was frustratingly suitable for a play in the park all year round, Radasanth was subject to the season’s turn and with it, the downfall of rain and sadness that permeated its streets right through until spring.
“We’ve still some time before we arrive at the docks and get on the ship to Eluriand, then.”
“Are we still to part ways before boarding?” Jeren, remembering their plan, focussed on ensuring he knew his part to play in coming events backwards.
Ruby nodded. “Jeren and Leopold will travel on the Rose’s ship. They will arrive in Eluriand under the guise of a construction caravan taking materials to the Bardic Colligate.” Focussed by her embroidery’s charm, the spell singer spoke with clarity and focus. How long her calm would last, neither of the men could guess, but they were glad for the respite and the return of the woman they both admired.
“You will meet with your contact and counter offer the high bard with an offer to harbour any survivors in Branna.”
This, they hoped, would create a bidding war. Ruby was set to show the colligate what Branna had to offer, using her spell song as a bargaining chip that would rival any chest of gold the Rose could offer.
“Then what?” Jeren enquired.
The wagon came to a halt, emerging from a side-street onto a thoroughfare of wagons and carts streaming back and forth between the Citadel and the docks. Though not as bustling as Branna, Radasanth possessed its own tireless march of progress.
One Month Prior
“This is the last thing any of us wanted,” Arden interjected.
The swordsman folded his arms across his chest to show his discomfort. For the blood mage to show discomfort, things had to have soured beyond repair between the siblings.
“But Duffy wanted to die. So,” Lillith continued, ever the voice of conscience, “we need to work out what he wanted to accomplish through his actions.”
They had tried to work out the answer to that question for days. Leopold knew some of the story, having had a hand in the events leading up to Ruby’s spell song. Ruby herself had been the catalyst of change. Lillith and Arden were oblivious to what had transpired until they received a message in memoriam for their brother.
“Well, I daresay Branna got summat to do with it,” Pete clucked. Though confused, emotional, and emotionally charged the youngest member of the family was always first to make connections between loose ends.
They looked at one another in a melee of searching. Finally, they all turned to Pete, who was still half-teary eyed and shaking with nerves. His nose was shiny with sweat, and his heart raced.
“What do you mean?” Ruby asked.
“Well,” he continued, breath heavy and words quick, “he had to die to make it ‘appen, so maybe his sacrifice is what you might be callin’ ‘a symbolic gesture’.”
The thought had crossed Ruby’s mind many times. She had been too grief stricken to accept it. Duffy was many things, a fool chief amongst them, but he had never been one to truly, without question, offer himself as a sacrifice. He spoke about it often enough but never quite had the guts to do it himself. Others suffered under his leadership. Not him.
“He often spoke about making a place in the world for people like us to finally feel at home.”
Ever since the troupe had existed, that had been their dream. They had performed night after night through endless blistering summers to one day be able to call a place home and truly mean it. Ruby had never really believed in Duffy’s dream because to her, because to all of the troupe, Scara Brae was their home. Wherever there was a stage they felt alive.
“It was never good enough for him to just have a temporary hearth to sit by…,” Leopold said with regret. He poured a drink for himself, then searched in his desk drawers for more glasses. Now felt like precisely the time to cast aside his reluctance to share his good bourbon.
“But…,” Ruby spluttered. The heat of the cramped environment was beginning to get to her. She wiped her brow. “Why did you have to trick me into making this happen?” She looked at Leopold with murderous intent.
They had been skirting around the issue for weeks.
“Because Duffy asked me to. All our goals, all our problems, he said, could be solved with one final performance. One final glorious act.”
“Well.” Ruby crossed her hands and set them neatly on her lap. “That depends.”
She hoped that the elves would welcome their offer and take the opportunity to be free of Eluriand’s corrupted ruins. In all honesty, she expected them to reject her and stay in their mausoleum.
“We will be lucky if more than a handful of blade singers chose to migrate.” Leopold’s truthful expression put the conversation to bed.
As the wagon lurched back to life, the occupants of the wagon rocked back and forth comically and in an undignified manner. Ruby rolled her eyes.
“We will be lucky if we get to our destination without picking up a few bruises along the way.”
This earnt a short chorus of chuckles before inevitable awkward silence returned to the wagon. Ruby pulled back the curtain and squinted as the dull light of a spring day flooded in. Leopold, taking it as a strong suggestion to do the same pulled open the opposite curtain.
“Any doubts, Jeren?” the merchant asked.
The caravan guard considered his reply as he watched the flow of wagons and citizens teem back and forth along the busy road. Top hats, prim dresses, and mounds of produce fresh (if not sodden) for sale at one of the many markets in the city built a tapestry of colour washed grey with Radasanthian charm. He frowned.
“I always have doubts when we embark on an assignment, Leopold.”
It did not take a genius to work out that Jeren was inferring his employer’s knack for getting them all into considerable amounts of debt, trouble, and pain. The newly promoted captain had resigned himself long ago to the constant risk of disembowelment being part of his continuously expanding job description.
“I’m glad you manage to survive my husband’s escapades.” Ruby stuck her tongue out at Leopold. Leopold returned the favour.
“…and put up my wife’s rambunctious mood swings.”
Jeren looked at Ruby, then Leopold, and then rolled his eyes. He would have tutted to, but did not have the energy.
“You’d made putting up with your…,” he erred. “Unusual work/home relationship worthwhile as of this morning.” The only thing that talked more than Jeren Sylvers was money.
“Well.” Ruby craned her neck to see further along the road. “I’m glad we have cleared that up.” She broke into a wide grin when the road curved and revealed a forest of masts on the horizon. They were at the docks. “We’re here.”
The welcome news caused the trio to check the contents of their pockets, do up their jacket buttons and smooth their lapels, dress, and put on their gloves. Though the distance between dockside and their respective ships was short, the rain promises to soak them suitably uncomfortable if they took it for granted.
“Do you have the papers, dear?” Leopold asked. He looked at Ruby expectantly.
Gracefully, Ruby slipped a trio of folded parchments from her bra, fanned them enticingly, and secreted them away again. Leopold nodded appreciatively.
“Disembark!” a hollow voice barked from atop the wagon as it came to an abrupt stop.
“Wilfred sounds unwell,” Syrian quipped.
Leopold chuckled. “He has a cold.”
“A cold he won’t let anyone forget,” Ruby added.
The trio disembarked in the traditional manner. Jeren first out of the starboard side, then supporting his employer down the drop on the port side who then helped Ruby traverse the double step in heels. Arrayed before the wagon, they meant business.
“Give it a week on the open sea and you’ll be snivelling as much as me ma’am,” Wilfred shouted down from the top of the wagon. The whispery man servant was smoking a pipe, huddled under a wide brimmed hat and waxed leather shawl, and looked like death.
Ruby glanced upward with a warm, dismissive smile and broke away from the wagon. Determined not to look like a drowned rat when she stepped onto her ship she quickened her pace. Her heels clicked against stone and splashed delicately in puddles.
“Love labour’s lost, my dear!” Leopold cried after her.
Ruby looked over her shoulder, hair already soaked and forehead dripping, and scowled. She scampered up the gangplank and was seconded away to speak with the captain by dishevelled looking tattooed deck hands.
“Well,” Leopold sighed. “Guess there’s no going back now.”
Jeren rummaged through the baggage box on the side of the wagon and pulled out two wax shawls for them both. They hid under them to stave off the rain and went about sending Wilfred on his way.
Philomel
10-26-15, 11:12 AM
Name of Judgement: And Death Had No Dominionhttp://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?29715-And-Death-Had-No-Dominion
Judgement Type: No Judgement
Rewards:
Ruby (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?14033-Ruby) receives:
625 EXP
60 GP
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